Promised
by KiahTrickster
Summary: Prophecies tell of one who may save the world, to whom death will bend it's knee and give up those stolen from their cause; though none knew to conquer death one must first face it. Born among salt and smoke to wake the dragons from stone; forged of magic. The games of the high lords have plunged Westeros into more danger than ever before. Will the Promised One come to their aid?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: A fix it going forward from the finale, spoilers for the final season if you haven't seen it. The prophecy is based off of what was given in the show and some details I found on a Wiki about the books as well.

**Chapter One**

_In grief the dragon burned the Iron Throne, reducing the emblem of Westeros, of Targaryen conquest to molten metal poured over marble, cooling as quickly as his mother's body. The woman who had cradled him in her arms when he was young and raised him as a mother would a child, Drogon cradled her carefully in his claws; taking her far from this cold and miserable place._

_He soared East, warming her in the smoke of their homelands, feeling the magic that remained within her lifeless body; it called to him from beyond the grave. Just as she had called to the stone that had once encased him, finding the magic to give three eggs life; and now he was all that was left of them. But she had returned dragons to this world, the world would know her power and magic; for it was never to be without dragons again. _

_A dragon could always sense magic, and he followed a sweet song to the Red City, carefully laying the body of his mother on the stone, his roar shaking the foundations of the temple, demanding the magic of this place return her life. For he had returned to the world for a purpose, and dragons were not made to grieve; nor to be alone. _

…

There was only blackness, and it pressed tightly and endlessly around her. The world was gone, her senses were gone and so was the pain, it seemed as if time had stopped. Daenerys wanted to cry and scream or see the world again; to see her son once more.

She had no sense of time, or place, what had happened; but one memory was clear, and it was her last. Until she heard the faintest whisper of a voice, it surrounded her like a warm blanket, twining around her as smoke filled the air. The acrid haze burned her nostrils and as Daenerys choked on it and panic flooded her system.

Her eyes flew open, a woman stood above her, hands holding her down as she chanted. Fear raced through her and Daenerys struggled, but the woman was stronger than she looked; she could not break free and moments flashed before her eyes.

Jon's face as he looked at her, the pain in his face did not match what exploded in her chest, Tyrion's betrayal; and Varys. The table she lay on trembled and her head whipped around, a lump forming in her throat as she stared into smoldering dark eyes; Drogon watched menacingly and that made her feel safer. Daenerys struggled again, this time gaining enough purchase sit up.

She didn't know where she was, nor the woman who was chanting; but she recognized the choker around her neck and the red robe. Drogon crouched with his wings tucked in under himself to watch what the woman was doing, her hands still wrapped tightly around Daenerys' shoulders. The smoke swirled higher and shadows danced within it, faces she knew; friends she had lost. In desperation she reached out for them.

"No!" The woman broke the incantation, one arm wrapping around her. "Be still."

"Where am I? Who are you?" Daenerys demanded, the woman's touch was warm, and her skin still felt cold.

"I am Kinvara, high priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis. You have questions, I know you must." The woman murmured; a hand still wrapped around her arm. "But you are alive, and your life force calls with the power of your blood; the promise of your birth."

And before she could protest the woman began to chant again, Daenerys looked down, her fingers running over the mark where the knife slid between her ribs; she knew the woman spoke the truth. And she remembered being told of the Red Priestesses supporting her advisors during the unrest in Mereen. But it did not make sense.

Suddenly a familiar voice made ice run through her veins; a voice she was never meant to hear again. "Khaleesi?"

"Ser Jorah?" She spun, trying to jerk free of the woman who held her, still chanting; Jorah strode from the smoke. He was dressed as he had been the day she said goodbye, when she reached out with her free hand he wrapped it in his and it felt as though a spark raced up her arm; his skin was warm.

"Khaleesi?" He murmured again; the question still in his voice; she only nodded feeling tears well in her eyes.

The woman's chant rose, and the smoke swirled higher, but as she looked around the shadows did not dance now; no, the figures within the smoke became clearer and she knew them all. Next came Missandei, the scar on her throat thick and broad but her friend's eyes were full of tears and Daenerys shifted; hugging her tightly as her own tears fell.

As if becoming a quiet observer Jorah stepped to the side, and she felt his hands run over her shoulders, he tucked the thick fur of his cloak around her as warriors began to pour from the smoke. Dothraki and Unsullied, many whose names she did not know, men who had died defending Mereen years ago and others who had lost their lives the North; fighting a war far from their homes.

Another familiar face shouldered his way through the crowds of men, now pressing together in the rear of the chamber; trying to stay clear of her dragon who still crouched before the alter she sat upon. Daenerys smiled as Sir Barristan Selmy approached and when she offered her hand, he dipped his head.

"How is this possible?" The man breathed in awe.

"She is the one that was promised, she will rebuild this world with blood, and dragon fire; generations have waited for her believing they sought a man. Daenerys Stormborn is the promised one; and all who died for her cause rise with her." The priestess spoke, finally releasing her arm; and the smoke faded.

Suddenly there was a great screech and a shadow darkened the window, Drogon jerked up so fast he hardly stopped before he brought the building down upon them. Shuffling his great mass backwards awkwardly until he was able to take flight himself with a screech of his own that was answered again; three silhouettes soared over the sea and hope lurched in her heart.

This was real, Missandei's hand remained clasped in hers and Jorah stood less than a pace behind her; he did not disappear when she reached out to touch him. She had seen both of them die, seen their bodies and been able to do nothing; now she could.

"All of you have given your lives for me once already and I have no right to ask any of you to risk them again. I know what you lost." Daenerys rose to stand, the sturdy stone table giving her some vantage as she looked out over the crowded room; there were more beyond the chamber too. She let the cloak slip a little as she ran her fingers over her own scar; thinking of that moment again.

As she stopped speaking, she swallowed hard, her eyes sweeping the room, as she turned to her right, she found that Jorah had already knelt, and each man followed suit until only the Red Priestess stood in the room. Emotion rolled through her, perhaps it would have been simpler had they walked away; each to live their own lives; but certainly this meant there was something more. It meant her dream lived on, despite what had happened; despite what she had done.

"You are free to go, go and live if that is what you want. But if you wish to stay then you will fight with me; you will fight for change. For a world where slavers' ships do not prey upon the Southern Isles, where the Horde fights for a purpose. I fight to right the wrongs of this world and my own, but if my cause was lost, I would not be here; none of us would be."

The Red Priestess continued to murmur about the promised one and R'hllor answering the prayer of generations. She had heard of this prophecy before, another Red Woman had come to Dragonstone speaking of this prophecy; but that woman had no proof; and had declared others to be the promised one before.

That she stood here, aware and whole was proof, that she stood surrounded by those she had lost was proof over again for men and women who stood whole had not been bodies to resurrect. Jorah had been burned on the pyre in the North, Ser Barristan buried hundreds of miles away in Mereen and she did not know what had become of Missandei's body. Yet they stood here with her, flesh made warm and whole again; just as hers had been. And beyond the window three dragons soared together once more.

When Jorah helped her down from the table Daenerys roamed forward, scanning the faces as she passed, she stopped no one from reaching out to touch her and those that cowered she reached out to herself; she could owe no man more than these. These were the men who had honored their oaths unto death, they had served her and died for her; suddenly she stopped in her tracks.

Men had stood again, jostling to touch her, but as she stood still, they sensed to give her peace; Daenerys watched as a young Dothraki man, his braid only past his shoulders embraced a woman. She knew both well, or she had; but years had passed since she'd seen them. Irri and Rakharo held each other tightly until they realized she had approached; Daenerys could only smile a little. She remembered how her friend had feared for the blood rider's final rest, and she would never forget the young man's loyalty or bravery. What magic was this that it could draw back any man from the grave?

Thousands of men stood in the temple, and the yard beyond it; Daenerys roamed as the Red Priestess took to the street; declaring the prophecy to those who watched uneasily from their windows and doorways. Men shifted, looking at each other and their scars as they tried to process what had happened and how they ended up here.

The priestess took charge, the people of the community brought out blankets for men to make into bedrolls; she was shown to a room in the back. Kinvara also produced her clothes, removed for the ceremony and still stained with blood; Irri took it before Missandei could. Daenerys took her friend's hand, and caught Missandei's, stopping them both for a moment; she was thankful that they were here.

In the early hours of the morning she finally settled to sleep, but it was not peaceful. She was back in the battle of Winterfell, on that blood-stained field piled high with the dead who had crumbled again; and Jorah with them. And then Jon….

"Khaleesi!" She was jolted awake, Irri's face above her and for a moment she was confused; but Missandei was right behind her. "Are you alright Khaleesi?"

"I am okay. I will be okay." She took a steadying breath, recognizing her friends; remembering what had happened last night. Trying to push the other memories aside. "Will you find Ser Jorah?"

…

He filed into the bath house with the rest of the men, stripping off his coat and then the clothes beneath to hang them on a hook. The steaming water would feel good, perhaps it had something to do with returning to this world, but he felt oddly stiff; and his mind was racing.

"Seven hells." He heard the muttered curse and realized there was more than a few men sneaking looks at him, Ser Barristan had spoke. "What happened to you?"

That could be taken a few ways, but the man had already seen him, uneasily Jorah looked down at his chest, the scars of grey scale were bad enough but there were others now and he didn't count them. Jorah took a towel and went to find a spot in the bath, and began to scrub his skin, trying to sort out what this was. He was not sure how this was possible, let alone the reason for it.

He remembered the charge against the dead, and then the fight; the battle that never seemed to end. But after that his memory was blank, it was darkness until he saw her. Thick smoke had rolled in and he saw her lying on that table; the witch standing beside her.

Jorah had reached for his sword only to find he didn't have one, that didn't stop him; he stepped forward and kept going until he saw her sit up. There was shock in her face as she reached to him, and when their hands met a spark raced through him. Suddenly there were others behind him, around them; men who had died years ago.

And then he realized he was one of them, she had been one as well and that burned inside him; they'd lost the war then. The words that witch kept repeating were true, but what stung more was he did not know what they had done to the Khaleesi.

"Ser Jorah?" A soft voice called from the doorway; a woman's voice had the men shifting uneasily.

Jorah rose quickly and wrapped a towel about his waist, the woman didn't enter, and he stopped to pull on his breeches, pulling his shirt closed as he went to the door. Missandei stood quietly in the hall and he couldn't help noticing the rough scar across her throat; they all got to keep the marks of death then.

"She needs you." Missandei told him quietly, and her eyes told him to hurry.

Jorah followed her back through the maze of halls, pausing a moment before he asked the question that was weighing on his mind. "What happened after Winterfell?"

"We went south, I don't know what happened to the Khaleesi." She whispered; he heard the pain in her voice. "I don't know what happened to Grey Worm."

When she stopped before a door he nodded and knocked lightly; waiting for her to answer. The Khaleesi looked tired, though she'd found some proper clothes at some point; she'd been crying. And as he approached, she reached out, Jorah felt the familiar pang of emotion as he offered his hand and she pulled him to sit on the edge of the bed; she wanted comfort.

The Khaleesi rolled towards him and lay her head in his lap, reaching for his hand once more. "What is this Jorah?"

"I don't know." He murmured, hesitantly running his palm over her hair.

"Why?" She whispered, the desperation in her voice. There was nothing to say just now, Jorah only stroked her hair; hoping to soothe her.

She didn't sleep long, waking often with questions he could not answer; but she was talking in her sleep and he had pieced together a little of it by morning. Jorah only dozed lightly, his fingers tangled in her hair from trying to calm her.

She was asleep as Irri and Missandei entered, Jorah winced but hesitated to wake her. Irri shook out her coat and as she lay it across the foot of the bed, he saw patch and the stain the woman hadn't quite been able to get out; anger tightened in his gut. He knew the placement and the thrust, he wanted to know who had slid a knife between her ribs. As she woke Jorah rose to go, trying to subtly crack his back as he headed for the door.

"Wait Ser Jorah." She stopped him, even as Missandei began to comb her hair. "We need to talk."

He nodded turning on his heel, waiting for the women to finish tending her; as Missandei helped her with the coat he turned back. As Missandei began to step back he watched her catch the woman's hands.

"We will find Grey Worm." She promised, that meant as far as she knew Grey Worm had survived; it did not answer how they had all arrived here. "I will speak with Kinvara this morning."

The two women she had relied on did not know each other, but he hoped they realized that both had been very dear to her. He remembered her heartbreak at finding Irri on the floor of her chamber, Missandei had become dear to her but certainly not replaced the young Dothraki in her heart; he could sense the two women trying to feel each other out.

Then he suspected they all were doing a little of that, the Khaleesi had spared him more than a few questions last night; he had no doubt Ser Barristan would have words for him. They had all served, every man here at one time or another; though he noted neither her brother nor her husband had rose. Perhaps because neither man had truly seen her, or because they had died before she bore the dragons back to life; he knew both had a part in sending her on her journey.

"I thought I would never see you again." Her soft whisper pulled him from his thoughts.

"I am here Khaleesi." He reassured her, remembering how fragile she had seemed last night.

"I put your body on a pyre outside Winterfell, and I said goodbye to the only man who truly believed in me." His throat tightened as she rounded on him, those pretty green eyes were sad and focused. "The only man who truly loved me."

"Khaleesi." He whispered, unable to say any more after hearing her say such a thing.

"I've made mistakes, I do not deserve this; I don't even know what this is. I don't know if I can do it again." She murmured, and as she leaned into his chest Jorah glanced down at her. He wanted to ask what had happened, and who had harmed her; but he knew better.

"Khaleesi, you can. I've seen you do the impossible time and time again; but you do not have to do it today." He knew her guard was down; she did not understand this any more than the rest of them; but she was at the center of it.

And this, the two of them and all the people who had returned with them, it had taken magic more powerful than anything he had ever heard of. Yet he had not missed the Red Woman's words. _"Death has bent the knee to the promised one, the great war is coming on the winter winds. The war for the world has come."_


	2. Chapter 2

Promised 2

_Through the cold grey sky an ancient hawk soared; stretching its broad wings as it rose higher; following the great ice wall across the land. It searched for signs of life, for friend or foe though its eyes were blank. Dipping low, sighting men flowing through the gate, returning to the lands beyond the wall. Seeing them the hawk's eyes cleared and it flew on, returning to its master once more. _

_"Man returns once again." The woman sat up, aware of the leaves and vines on her body instead of her hawk's feathers; knowing her sight animal would return to her._

_"They were meant to stay in the wall." A voice poured from a perch behind her, the quiet observer finally spoke._

_Around the circle there were murmurs of annoyance, but another voice spoke; deep and low. "They will be dealt with; but we have greater concerns. A dragon lives."_

_The beak opened once more, but he did not speak; they had shown him the truth of the past. Of all that had been lost as man, in their fear of magic routed it from the world, naïve to the truth that the foundations of the world were steeped in magic. They could be separated no more than heart and body; there was no life without it._

_And they had fought too long to give up now, their magic had grown strong in secret as the fire of this world faded. Man had thrown back the dragons for them, and the dragon lords were finally extinct, for the last with dragon's blood breathed no fire._

…

"He is valuable." Kinvara murmured, her eyes roamed over Jorah who had crossed to the door; a man offered him a sword belt. Likely one of the priestess' followers, all morning they had been coming and bringing gifts.

"Ser Jorah is very loyal…"

"No, he is different. He has suffered greatly for your cause; he gave his life for yours." The priestess spoke softly, looking back to her. "I called for many days, for your life and theirs. But he is the one who stepped into the smoke."

Daenerys found herself smiling softly as she watched him examining the blade a moment before sliding the sword back into the sheath and wrapping the belt around himself. Some of the Dothraki had their arakhs, it was their custom to lay warriors to rest with their weapons for the afterlife; but many others did not. Jorah had been laid on a pyre without a weapon and she had seen him reach to his hip for the weapon that was like an extra limb.

"Ser Jorah is a friend." The priestess had yet to tell her much, the woman had spent the morning speaking to her congregants and patrons who had heard of last night. "He has been beside me since the start."

"And now he has been returned to you." The priestess murmured. "As you have been to us, I have seen generations have live and die enslaved to this world; waiting for the promise to be fulfilled. For the promised one to come from the West."

"How much time has passed since the battle for Kings' Landing?" She asked quietly, by now Jon would have seated himself upon the throne. What had he done with her army? What had become of the people that followed her across the Narrow Sea, deep into the North for those that betrayed her, and South once more?

"Several moons have passed; one has passed since your dragon brought you here. I had only the spell, handed down through the ages; as old as the prophecy itself. It took time." Kinvara looked saddened at that and Daenerys frowned.

"And what has happened in that time?" She asked, perhaps the stories of the West had made there way here; Volantis was a port city.

But the priestess did not speak of the West, instead Daenerys listened as she explained how slavery had quickly risen again in Dragon's Bay, many she had freed only a few years ago had been slaughtered resisting. Slavers sailed south and roamed East into the Dothraki Sea, attacking and looting the tribes left in peace since the horse lords became her khalasar; desperate to regain the currency they favored. The woman did not mention the Second Sons and Daenerys hesitated to ask. Would he have remained loyal when word of her death came? Or had he turned before that?

When she asked of Westeros, the country of her birth she saw the challenge in the woman's eyes. "The West had its chance; in the age of heroes one rose to champion their cause and throw back their enemies; they chose. Our promised one set her heart upon Westeros and championed their cause; they slid a knife into your heart. They do not call upon R'hllor, they do not wait upon the world you will build."

"The Iron Throne of Westeros was my birth right; I only took what was stolen from my family." Daenerys looked down as Kinvara clasped her hands, she heard conviction in the woman's voice.

The woman looked slightly disheartened, but a member of the temple approached to whisper in the priestess' ear, a flame etched into her cheek. Daenerys shifted uneasily, and then slid away as Kinvara rose to attend to the matter; she escaped the temple to walk along the shore for a moment.

The temple was on the sea, a fine stone walkway along the sea, Jorah and Ser Barristan shadowed her; the latter fell back as the dragons approached. But Daenerys frowned as two great forms descended from the sky, it lifted her heart to see them for their deaths had broken her; Viserion and Rhaegal landed with surprising grace.

Still, she scanned the sky and looked out over the sea; Drogon was not with them. But the two dragons eased closer, Viserion's scar was covered in golden tissue, bright against the cream of his chest; Rhaegal's was bronze against the green of his throat; scarred like the scales of their backs. But both threw the vibrant red and orange flame of the living and as she stroked her youngest's snout, notably smaller than even Rhaegal; she was relieved. And both vied for her attention, unconcerned that Jorah stood behind her, though they let few but her get so close to them; they had known him all their lives.

Viserion had died bravely, but her youngest was also the sweetest; low clicks of contentment rumbled in his throat as he pressed closer. Rhaegal was not to be ignored and while she knew Jorah was watching, it was Ser Barristan shifting uneasily as the dragon nudged her none too gently; demanding she pet him too. Daenerys did not mind, tending to her sons was comforting and it felt familiar; it was the first thing that did today.

…

He spent most of the day at the Khaleesi's side, but in the moments when he did step away, he found that those who had returned with them were having an easier time coping with this than she was. But she was not alone, Rakharo was fiercely loyal to her cause and had confused the Westerosi knight when he questioned the man's presence; it took Jorah a few moments to smooth that over.

It seemed they all had the shared experience, living their lives and their deaths, standing in blackness until the smoke rolled in; and rejoining her in the Red Temple without knowing how much had happened since they left. The Dothraki and Unsullied turned to each other, men piecing the journey together until the last which no one seemed to know. Ser Barristan had questioned him, a threat in his eyes until the Khaleesi herself caught them; chiding the Queens guard sternly.

"Ser Jorah saved my life many times over and gave his own for mine. His place is at my right hand." The fire in her voice had them both dipping their heads.

She dismissed Ser Barristan but motioned for him to stay with her, he knew today had been trying. The Red Priestess' words had not comforted her, and he knew the army that rose with her was a responsibility weighing upon her; that Drogon had taken off sometime in the night did not help.

In the privacy of her room Jorah chose a spot by the door; unsure how long she would want him once Missandei and Irri came. But the Khaleesi roamed to the window and then glanced back to him. "What do you know of this faith?"

"The lord of light is worshiped throughout the East, the faithful believe fire is manifestation of his power and priestess' have used it to raise men from the grave and execute nonbelievers. Efforts have been made in the West, but the faith of the seven is still dominant there; few embrace change." He reported quietly, knowing she had encountered the priestess in the West.

"No, they do not like change." The Khaleesi murmured, he saw emotion flood her eyes and wondered again what had happened when she went South. "But does the East? And what claim do I have to it? Already they cast aside what I built in Dragon's Bay and turned back to their old ways."

"Khaleesi, under the Valyrians much of Essos was united; only crumbling into city states after the doom. They learned their ways centuries ago, Valyrians conquered them and enslaved them and they have kept to those ways. It was you who changed three of them." And he knew it would hurt her to know that the poor of those cities had once again been put in collars and chains.

"How did Westeros condemn slavery?" She asked after a moment, and he shook his head, he did not know exactly how it had been outlawed; only that it had happened thousands of years ago. But he would find out.

Jorah left her when the women came to help her with her evening routine, time with her friends might soothe her a little. He retreated to find his own evening meal and get some sleep; he was bunked in a huge chamber at the back of the temple; with so many men they were bunking wherever there was space.

After a cold meal he was one of the first to find his bedroll, but he had not slept much last night and with clothes meant for Northern Westeros he stripped off his coat, lappets and sword belt before stretching out. The room did not settle for a long time as men filtered in to find their spots and sleep, eventually Jorah slept.

But he woke late as others in the room stirred, rubbing his face blearily as a small figure moved between the rows. He saw a man roll, pointing in his direction before hunkering down again and Jorah shifted to sit up; Irri came towards him.

"The Khaleesi cannot sleep; she asks for you." The woman told him quietly and Jorah rose, trying to shake the sleep from his mind.

"Go get some sleep." He instructed Irri, he knew the young woman would not rest until she knew the Khaleesi was taken care of.

He found his way to the door of her chamber and knocked softly. She was up tonight, her face was pale as she turned to him, her eyes had a hollow look and he knew she had been dreaming again. Jorah was cautious as he closed the door, she was alone, but he knew Missandei would have come to her side.

She wore a thin slip of a nightgown that was too big for her, but he did not miss how her palm rested against her ribs. He knew the dream that had disturbed her tonight and Jorah felt anger tighten in his gut as he thought of her in pain; in knowing it was hurting her now.

"I am sorry for what happened to you." She came to him.

"Do not be sorry." He murmured, hating that was where her mind was. "Tell me how to help you Khaleesi."

"Just be here." She whispered, moving to sit on the bench at the end of the bed.

He nodded and eased down to sit near her, after a few moments she eased closer and leaned her head onto his shoulder. "We won the war in the North. But I lost you, we went south, and I lost Rhaegal. I listened to Tyrion and I lost Missandei."

Jorah listened, he had gleaned bits and pieces of the story already, but it didn't matter; she needed to talk. She told him of Varys' betrayal and Jorah rested a hand on her shoulder as she began to tell him of King's Landing. The people had fled into the Red Keep, still turning to Cersei Lannister to protect them; to the queen who broke her word.

Jorah was quiet, he suspected there was strategy there that she wasn't seeing, more had likely died because of that; but she had been reacting. She had been hurting and alone, and her temper had overruled in a terrible way, but she grieved that now. And that annoyed him, the men who turned from her had served her long enough to know she had a temper; but rather than encourage her they had tried to bend her to their will.

The Khaleesi was not a woman who bent easily, but her heart could be swayed and when she felt safe, she would allow glimpses of her gentle side. And her had fire served her well, it had strengthened her through challenges that many would not have survived, it drove her to fight for what she believed in despite the odds.

Eventually she drifted to sleep, he wrapped an arm around her to keep her from slipping and then shifted; hefting her into his arms. He tucked her into her bed and eased to sit on the edge as she curled back into him instinctively; she did not want to be alone.

But he was not sure what to make of this, she only wanted comfort and yet it was difficult to hold her close and tell himself she only wanted advice. The Khaleesi had found her taste in men and he could accept that she did not see him in that way; they had something else. Still, he was careful to be up early, sitting on a chair by the bed well before anyone would be coming to look for her.

Yet when she stirred, she told him Missandei and Irri had been instructed to come late this morning. She climbed from the bed to join him, the hollow look lingered in her eyes and when she ran her fingers over her scar once more he reached out.

She paused in front of him, but she did not pull back as his hand covered hers. "Who did this?"

"Jon." The name was soft, but he heard, and he saw the pain it caused her to say it.

She shifted and he felt the roughened scar through the thin fabric as her hand slid aside; resting on his forearm. The scar was small, far too small to have been made by a sword and that gave him the smallest comfort; but it meant Jon Snow had been as close to her as he was now. And he knew what the two of them had been, she had trusted the man and needed to feel close to someone; he would not forget.

They were interrupted a moment later by a knock and when the Khaleesi called out his hands were at his side, but surprise rolled through him. A young woman entered with a heavy tray, he had not seen her before, but he noticed the small tattoos; one was very fresh.

"Who are you?" The Khaleesi demanded as Jorah shifted to stand; Volantis had a booming slave trade, but they were clever, and he was not sure she knew what the tiny marks meant.

"I am Sura. I have brought your breakfast." The young woman spoke softly, the girl was fair and pretty; someone had paid a high price for her. "I am yours now..."

"Khaleesi." He interrupted, his tone grave; either someone had made a grave error, or a calculated choice. "The Volanteens tattoo their slaves so they cannot escape; they do not always wear collars."

"You are a slave?" She looked between him and the young woman; she was hoping he was wrong.

"My master gave me to the temple; to serve the Promised One." Sura whispered, clearly afraid of what the Khaleesi was going to do.

Jorah watched as she drew close, the young woman nearly trembled as the Khaleesi traced a finger lightly over the marks on her cheek; one still red and sore. He sensed her mood changing and saw the anger rising inside her, he knew Sura did too, but she did not know her well enough to know why.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

_The raven flew south, returning to its lonely world, he was always reluctant to leave the shelter of their hall. There was much yet for him to learn, and he would be the first in thousands of years to know his true purpose; to know the past. _

_"We should give him a wolf." One spoke, the ancient being had seen the Great Raven die, and all that came after him, fleeing from their calling while civilizations rose and fell._

_Hawk nodded quietly, there would always be the blood of man in their raven; but this one knew his magic. Already the boy came regularly in his animal form, drawn to their hearth, the magic within him called to his true people. _

_"Not yet, much of the boy remains in him; he need not be reminded that he is man." Falcon's low voice carried a command, their elder had seen a great deal. "The raven that made him never knew the truth."_

_"It is the Raven I think of." Slowly rising, the ancient one stood. "He does not know he danced with the grave, he believes the boy he was is still within his past. Give him a tie to the house he believes he came from. Let the wolf howl, let his animal bind him to his magic that he may see the captivity man would hold him in; you know the true sight can bind to any form."_

_"In time." Falcon promised. "He is learning, we must control what he sees until he is ready; show him the reasons for what we do."_

_The elder, long since having taken the namesake of his spirit; as Hawk herself had done, remembered a time when they were free. It was his stories Hawk had grown on, his tales of crossing the depths in their animal spirits to discover this land; a land in which they could be free and safe. _

_His stories of the weak who divided them, who mated the enemy that hunted them, destroyed their ancient trees, fought with man against their own kind and secreted their leader away for centuries. The weak and hateful creatures who bonded their powers to man, to those who destroyed them and drove them into hiding deep in the frigid lands of ice before they lost their lives. Hawk had seen the last of them finally die, along with the raven that never served them. But Falcon was one of the elders who had stood witness to the Great Tragedy and the fall of their leader; the day true sight bound to man eternally._

_For the Great Raven, defeated in battle, died without an heir or one of his own kind to take. As he lingered between life and the grave his spirit fled his body, seeking its animal one last time; until a man stepped between. The true sight of the Forest, the mark of their ruler and seat of power, sought a life between this world and the next; and ever since it was there that the next Raven gained life. _

…

Kinvara did not flinch as Daenerys questioned her, anger flared inside of her as she glanced back to the young woman who kept her head down; standing five paces behind them. But a man who had stood in the shadows stepped forward.

"If this gift does not please you, let me offer you another." The man's accent was thick, and the Red Priestess finally reacted; her shoulders sank as though disappointed.

"Do not offer me a life that is not yours to give, and do not believe I will fulfill the prophecy you hope for if it is to be paid in chains. Sura is mine now and I free her, no slave shall serve me. Put her in chains or brand her face again and you will face my fire." She spat coldly, the anger that raced through her system thrumming dangerously.

"My people do not know what they need, they know only the ways they have been shown. But you can cleanse the sin from the land, burn it away and build anew…" Kinvara spoke, her voice low and sweet but Daenerys only felt horror creeping into her body. Was that what the priestess believed to be the only way?

That could not be why she lived, unnerved by all of it she retreated to her room; pacing in frustration. She instructed Sura to move to the chamber her handmaids were sharing, the young woman would enter her service unless she chose to; but she wouldn't be returning to a master. The girl still wavered as if expecting to be struck, Daenerys sent Missandei to help her settle; no one could better understand what she was feeling.

"Khaleesi." Jorah's voice was calm, he stood just inside the door; he had watched the exchange moments ago, but he did not back away.

"Do they want me to set the world on fire? Is that what she believes justice is?" Daenerys vented, knowing he would listen, he always seemed to understand; even when he didn't agree. "I have no claim here, I did not ask to come, nor I do believe these cities want me anymore than the Seven Kingdoms do."

Mereen, and all of Dragon's Bay had wasted no time putting aside the system she had built before the moon of her death waned; within a lifetime man had been freed and enslaved once more. Had she remained in the grave all that she worked for, all that the men with her had died for would have been forgotten.

Even in the free cities that claimed to abhor the practice collared slaves could be found on the estates of the rich, their gates guarded by Unsullied bought with gold. The Tyroshi, Volantenes and other cities flaunted their slaved trade, and nothing changed; all they paid was lip service. Proof once more that this was not her home, yet Westeros felt just as foreign.

"You do have a claim Khaleesi, if you choose it, because of your vision and your birth." Jorah told her quietly, unphased by her temper; blue eyes warm and gentle. "Once the Valyrian freehold stretched over much of Essos, long before your house was Westerosi; they were Valyrian. These are the lands Old Valyria held."

"You would have me claim a title built upon slavery and sorcery?" She glared; the wheel built in that ruined city rolled on, holding the poor and weak of the world in terror; it was that wheel that she had sworn to break. That she had failed to break.

"Slavery and sorcery did not build the Valyrian freehold, those were the currencies the high lords pursued for their own gain. Dragons built Valyria, Khaleesi, with them the Valyrians ruled for millennia. And with them your ancestors conquered Westeros." Jorah did not flinch under her gaze.

And she sighed, falling quiet as he was right, the currency of a nation was chosen by those who led it. It had taken dragons to subdue Mereen's unrest, and Drogon had breached the walls of King's Landing. With all of her sons restored, stronger and larger than ever before, and the two most feared fighting forces of the East in her camp few would be able to resist her.

Yet if it came to war thousands would die, even more would suffer; and the seasons had changed here as well. She had seen enough of war; she had lost everything in the last; including the man who advised her now. Perhaps things would have been different had he survived Winterfell and been at her side, but then they would not be here and maybe she was meant for this.

She rolled it all around in her head as the day went on, assigning Ser Barristan to take stock of their men and where they might make a proper camp; she knew one thing. They could not remain here if she was to be a tool of the Red Priestesses, she would not spend a second chance at life on someone else' agenda; not if it went against everything she believed in. Perhaps the priestess wanted what was best for her people, or maybe she wanted to justify her beliefs with dragon fire and increase her own power; Daenerys would not lend her own.

That evening Missandei and Irri tended her, having settled their young room mate to rest after a trying day. Her friends had struggled to get Sura to settle, but they had learned that girl was from Lys, sold into slavery by her own parents when they had too many young mouths to feed. Daenerys knew what the second mark on the child's face meant, the flame for the temple; and the tear of a prostitute.

After the two went to their own beds Daenerys struggled to sleep, imagining a child sold to a pleasure house, thinking of the thousands she had freed with the promise of a new life in chains again. Their children stolen from their arms as their lives were given to another. Was that not the fate she had been meant for?

Sold, a wife for an army, a tool to serve her brother's claim to the Iron Throne before she took it for herself. She took it because she could, she had been raised a free woman and found her voice; and her strength. But she'd had other advantages she thought, she'd had a loyal champion from the start and tonight she missed him. That she did not wake screaming in her sleep meant her handmaids got some sleep; as did Jorah. But she got little, tossing and turning until morning.

She had shared her bed with men before, but generally for a purpose, the last two nights it had been different. Jorah's frame was warm and solid, his arms made her feel safe and she missed the comfort he gave. Still he looked rested this morning and when he shadowed her down to the shore that morning, she watched him.

She knew he'd desired her in the past; but they both knew it could not happen. And Jorah had been willing to put that aside, serving her loyally as a dear friend. He was not like Daario; he might not care about the title he took; but he would have wanted her to be his alone. And her marriage needed to be an alliance, but things were different now.

The man she had once loved had betrayed her, letting the cities she rebuilt fall back into slavery, the man she had offered everything to, who she asked to rule with her had slid a knife into her chest. The men she chosen had not been true to her, Jorah may not be the man she imagined she would have, but he was safe, his loyalty was proven; and there was a comfort in that.

His eyes were scanning the sky before she could, in her heart she already knew; only two of her sons were gliding towards her. Drogon was not here, yet a strange calm quieted the worry that grew within her; he was independent, but he would find her. He had left once before but when she needed him, he was always there.

As she stroked Rhaegal's snout, she noticed Viserion had shifted back a little, giving Jorah space to stand near her; a crowd was already gathering, pointing and murmuring as they looked at the dragons. Her dragons knew him, he was one of the only people they would let get so close without threatening; but Viserion's snout was less than a foot away from him. And while Jorah might be tense the dragon was not; she wondered what her son would do if he reached out to touch his snout.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Jorah moved quickly through the corridor, seeking the Khaleesi as she had assigned him a task this morning; it had taken far longer than he expected. Yet it had been worth it, she would want to hear what he'd learned.

He had roamed the streets, eavesdropping on the gossip of the city. But when he stepped into a tavern and happened upon a sailor, already somewhat drunk; the man had sailed from King's Landing, for the spices of the Jade Sea. The man wanted to play cards, a friendly drunk who was more than willing to talk when there was a drink in his hand and some coin on the table.

Given they'd come back with few resources Jorah did pocket the gold he won, it wasn't really winning off a table of drunks, though he tucked a few coins into the unconscious sailor's shirt; information was worth that much. Some of the men who joined them were sell swords for the nobles of the city, Jorah learned more than he'd bargained for.

"Khaleesi?" He called, knocking softly on her door.

"You have news?" She asked as he entered, rising from where Missandei had been working her hair; nodding for the woman to leave. He paused, sorely tempted to start with a point of interest rather than a report; and as Missandei sidestepped to pass him, he lay a hand on her arm.

"Forgive me, I know you wanted news of the Triarch, but I met a Westerosi sailor in a tavern." He glanced to the Khaleesi; he did not wish to counteract her instruction but Missandei would want to hear this. "Jon Snow does not rule Westeros, Bran Stark does, the Unsullied sailed..."

"Where did they go?" Daenerys demanded, crossing to wrap an arm around her friend.

"That I do not know, South, but are alive, and they have your ships." Jorah murmured, there was a little more on that matter but neither woman wanted to hear of politics just now. "They still believe you are dead; they may be trying to find a home..."

"They are going to Naath." Missandei whispered, her face slightly pale as she spoke; he heard the hope in her voice."

"We will find them." The Khaleesi promised, holding her tightly, determination in her eyes.

Jorah only nodded, watching as she held her friend; whispering reassurances to her before letting her go for the night. Her hair hung long and lose for the night, seeing her with her friend reminded him of when he first met her. She had been through more than many had to endure in a lifetime, she had been hardened by it; but there was still a gentleness within her.

Once the door closed, she turned to him, the gentleness in her tucked away again; he wondered if she was annoyed that he had not given the report she wanted. He began to tell her of what he'd picked up from the hired swords who'd joined the table. The Triarch would meet at the turn of the moon, by then she was sure to be a topic of discussion.

"And their businesses?" The Khaleesi questioned, having sent him to learn what he could of Volantis' rulers.

"They've varied investments." Men with that amount of wealth usually did, but he knew what mattered. "Members of the Triarch have always had a hand in the slave trade; these three are no different."

"What place does the Red Temple have in their politics?" Her focus was sharpening, she was not willing to trust their host blindly; and her confidence in them was waning.

"There is a priest or priestess advising many of the great households; the influence varies person to person. Throughout the East the faith in the red god is common." Jorah told her.

He had been raised in the North, his ancestors held to the faith of the old gods, he had only begun to understand the varied beliefs of the East when he had to leave his homeland. While she had been raised in the East and shown some of their faiths, but he had not known her to seek any deity; he did not know if that was the beliefs of the Targaryens passed to her by her brother or something else.

The conversation died as she paced, pondering the report he'd given; but no signal for him to leave. She was silent and he could tell she was thinking about something, she drew close and he frowned, shifting to take a step back but her hand came to his cheek Jorah stood very still; she stretched up a little to press her mouth to his.

It was not a quick peck, and he cupped her jaw, sliding his fingers back into her hair as she tentatively teased the seam of his lips. He shifted, fighting the urge to pull her tight against him; but he angled his mouth over hers, taking a taste of her too. He did not hold her, letting her choose when to ease back; but she didn't hurry, and Jorah was not sure what to make of this.

After a moment she did step back, though she did not go far; she stared at him for a long moment and he waited for her to say something more. Unsure if it would be about his report; or the moment they had shared. He had questions about that, she had been tentative and yet she had chosen that moment.

…

Daenerys watched him go, she hadn't found the courage to ask him to stay; Jorah was different. To be with him would be different, and yet if they did not to work, she knew it would be a wound reopened for him. And she relied upon his advice more now than ever; there was still so much that she did not know.

But she did not dream of the past, she dreamt of a new world, of a free nation built by dragons; of families whole and healthy. And woke sobered, dreaming of her own, children with fair hair and soft blue eyes; a family she could not have. She would never have a family; she never truly had.

And neither had thousands of others, jerked from their homes to serve any who had the coin to buy them. Thousands were powerless to change their fate, and thousands whom she had freed trapped in that life again.

Perhaps they had prayed for their promised one, but she would not be the answer they had hoped for. Thousands of men had rose with her, resurrected by the power of her own; by the magic of the dragon within her. She would not rely upon blood magic again; she would not accept the wheel that rolled over this world; and her determination to break it remained.

That morning Missandei did not mention Grey Worm and the Unsullied but she knew her friend was thinking about them. She was too, and when Jorah came to her, he seemed hesitant to approach, Daenerys ignored it; purposely invading his space and watching his reaction.

Jorah stayed at her side as she met with Kinvara, refusing to be paraded as a prize for wealthy benefactors; proof that their religion was powerful. Daenerys drew him away after escaping the red priestess, heading down to the docks.

"Do you remember death?" She asked quietly.

"No, I remember the battle for Winterfell; but there is nothing after that." Jorah replied, she glanced to him as he mentioned the battle; she remembered that vividly.

"I don't remember anything until the priestess' incantation." She agreed, that was not her exact point, only two dragons approached as they walked along the shore; and Drogon was not one of them. "In theory the dragons are the same. I let Jon ride Rhaegal, but Viserion has never had living rider."

"Khaleesi?" His tone was soft, and she knew it was a risk. Jorah was a Northerner; he had the blood of the first men; not Valyria. But he was forever bound to her, that he was first to step through the smoke was testament to that; yet she knew the risks of what she asked.

"They have known you since they were hatchlings. They know you are mine." While Viserion might be the gentlest of her children he was still a dragon, if he did not want a rider he would not be ridden. She lay a hand on his arm. "And I need to find the Unsullied."

He was silent, he had only ridden with her once before, beyond the wall where Viserion had died. The dragons had landed and were crowding them, she rubbed Rhaegal's snout and then nudged him aside; Viserion eagerly pressed his snout closer. She rubbed his nose, and drew him closer, urging Jorah to stroke him; the dragon was not concerned by having him close.

Eventually the man did, laying a hand on the dragon's cheek, running back below his eye and towards his horn. Viserion leaned into the touch though Jorah eased back as the dragon sighed out hot air; a sign he was content. Letting out a soft chattering sound as he rubbed the base of a golden horn, as he might rub a dog's ear.

Daenerys wanted to tell him to mount, Viserion's pale wing tips rested on the pier; with his wings relaxed Jorah could easily climb onto his back. But Jorah continued to pet him, now resting his free hand on the cream snout; the dragon was ready to eat out of his hand before the man mounted.

The dragon stilled as Jorah shifted, trying to find his balance and a grip; then the dragon took a few steps to stretch his wings and took to the air. The dragon banked and soared out over the sea, Jorah had leaned close to Viserion's back and stayed in place.

He circled the harbour several times before letting Viserion land, when the dragon extended his wing, she climbed up easily and wrapped her arms about his waist. They sailed south west, edging around the smoking sea, sailors avoided the area as much as possible and they would not find the Unsullied there; Rhaegal soared just off their right wing. The day wore on and Daenerys shifted, leaning her cheek against his back.

She didn't need to lean into him, but it was comfortable, and she could hear his heartbeat, feel each breath he took; always steady. Her hand slid up, laying flat against his chest and she felt him tense a little, it had taken a long time for him to relax on dragonback; apparently, she was enough to make him uneasy again. But she was at ease as they soared over the open ocean, and she let her mind wander.

Jorah relaxed after a little while, sensing she intended to stay where she was; he was good at adapting to her. He would do the same as a lover she thought, he would not be rough, pushing at her or self assuredly seeking his own pleasure. Nor would he fumble, having only been with a woman a handful of time. But he would want more from her than any of those men, his loyalty was proven, and he would want her to return his love.

She did love him, the thought of losing him again made her pull him tighter; but their relationship was different. He was safe, and yet the meaning of that was changing for her, he could be trusted and relied upon; she never wanted to be alone as she had been after he died. And her son had chosen him though he had no dragon blood.

_…_

_In the North cold winds blew, snow and ice fell from the bleak gray skies without stopping as temperatures plummeted. Winter's grip was tight, their magic was strong after so many years dormant, they had regained their strength far beyond man's wall and now the ancient creatures prepared to reclaim their world. _

_Hawk soared above it all, dipping her wings, a signal to those below; the warriors they had first made were gone. They had been destroyed in south, just as man had destroyed their villages, ancient trees and way of life thousands of years ago. Some of their elders still remembered a time before man, a time when the Forest stretched from the tall cedar and oak in the North, to the cypress and ash of the marshes and deep into the tropical rain forests of the south; when deep red heart trees grew in abundance. The ice warriors would have saved them centuries ago and given all those lands back; had they not been betrayed._

_Only the young remained, sheltered by the magic of the Forest when the warrior who created them fell. The children of those who lived in the North, the few that acknowledged theirs was true power of this world. Some were only a few centuries old, others were still babes, their icy flesh still crackling and shifting as they grew. The first they made was a man, and while he filled their purpose, he had proved difficult to control whenever he ventured from the hub of their power; the young ones were more malleable. _

_They knew no other life, and they knew the love of the Forest, raised among the ancient ones. The children of ice were raised at the knee of the ancient, on stories of the past and tastes of their power; they were loyal. And today the young warriors would be given a taste of their own power, for the time was coming to return to their homelands._

_Hawk soared over icy field, below the ancient ones whispered the incantations and made the sacrifice, the children of ice stood at the knees of their people as the young warrior solemnly watched the field below. Ancient beings returned to life with the blood of the sacrifice, stiff pale legs unfolded, slowly lifting ice laden bodies from the snow._

_The dead of the true North had gone to war for them, man serving the true power of the world; now their Raven sat as the leader of man. It was time to venture South, and their warriors would go ahead. Falcon bid the young ones forward, urging them to climb upon the backs of the great ice spiders now shaking off the snow that had drifted over them; rattling the icicles hanging from them. _

_Hawk dipped low, she had seen these creatures only once before, and though she knew they were theirs she stayed well above them; their sleep had left them hungry and her bird would not come too close to their fangs. The young warriors bravely climbed up, struggling to balance on their backs; unsure how to hold their weapons as the spiders began to scuttle about._

_"Take them hunting." Falcon commanded, nodding as their young warriors gained control. _

_She ranged south after them, the spiders moving as a pack, clambering through the snow and ice with ease. Hawk ensured they stayed clear of their own city, ice spiders were not always choosy about what they ate, with front legs strong enough to hold a man and long fangs they were dangerous; and their own young played within the frozen walls._

_A sharp pain made Hawk abandon her bird, it came from her birth form; she was being called back to solid ground. And as her eyes opened, she rose, Falcon stood before her on the blood-soaked snow where the sacrifice they had captured only days ago lay. Man was back, and those they could catch would serve them._

_Falcon knelt next to one of the children, the vulnerable icy cracks of his flesh too weak to send into battle. "Touch him."_

_The boy reached out, changed as a babe, he did not know he had been meant to inhabit a form as weak as the one splayed before them. The boy touched the carcass, and jumped back, sheltering against the ancient one who raised him as the form stood; only its eyes remained dead._

_"It knows nothing but what you will tell it." The ancient being told him as others murmured encouragement; it was time for him to begin to train. "You will use it to master the sword and spear."_

_They would never match men in stature or steel, but their magic would, and the creatures they created fed upon the darkest of their powers. Others whispered their words of blood, stolen before they fled across the depths; escaping man the first time; but the foolish men did not know. With each incantation and sacrifice, the strands of power in this world tightened, stretching around the world. And man had destroyed the only one who could stand against them._

_"Hawk, you must go South, you shall serve the Raven; he must be guided now more than ever." Falcon instructed. "Help him choose our way."_

...

A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read and review the story. But for those of you reading this story along with my other ones please remember that they are distinct. This one is not related to Bound to the Dragon Queen- the magic and civilizations are going to be different.


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